


fit for a king

by jaemarked



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaemarked/pseuds/jaemarked
Summary: The king calls; Mark has no choice but to answer.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 14
Kudos: 150





	fit for a king

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel to "this is my kingdom come" the first part of the series! please read that one before you read this one.

Dinner with a king is never a dull event. 

Dinner with _the king of the Empire Heart_ is something Mark has never, not in his wildest dreams, imagined experiencing, and yet he is sitting across from King Donghyuck at a table filled with more food than he has ever seen in his lifetime.

This is not the first invitation he has received — but it is the first he has accepted. Mark has already counted his blessings. His new job as stablemaster is more than he has ever thought to ask for. He has regular hours, a stable income, and enough authority that he can assign tasks to the workers and actually get things done in a timely fashion. Gone were the days of working past sunset in order to finish not only his duties but the duties neglected by the former stablemaster. 

“You are always bleeding when you come to me,” the king says, and Mark unconsciously touches his lip with his fingers. They come away wet with blood, and he blushes, embarrassed that he has made a mess of himself in the presence of a king once more. He pulls out his cotton handkerchief and dabs at the cut on his lip. It had reopened from when that knight struck him in the face. 

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Mark bows his head low. “I was accidentally kicked in the face during a fight.”

He bites down on his lip, cheeks burning, when he realizes that the king didn’t ask, and therefore he shouldn’t have elaborated. The king’s eyebrows shoot up high on his face, and Mark nearly gapes. The last time he had seen the king, his hair had hung into his eyes, obstructing a third of his face. Now, his hair is styled off his forehead, and he looks a different kind of gorgeous.

“A fight?” The king echoes.

“A spar,” Mark corrects hastily. “I, um. I sometimes spar with the knights after the work is done.”

“How interesting.” _Honey_. Mark has gotten used to Donghyuck’s sweetness, and it’s a fact that surprises him. “Any knights in particular?”

Mark swallows. “Um, Jeno and Jaemin, usually?”

He doesn’t know how to read the king’s face. His expression is blank, a carefully cultivated mask harsh and hardened in the light of the torches lining the dining hall. 

“And do you win these spars, Mark?” The king picks up his goblet, gleaming gold. Mark imagines it’s filled with a dark red wine, much like the one left untouched by his plate. He’s been too afraid to touch _anything,_ though the spread before him looks appetizing.

“Sometimes, Your Highness,” Mark admits, twisting his fingers in the rough material of the handkerchief clenched in his lap. “I’ve not had much training, and they are stronger than me.”

“How intriguing,” the king says, slow and saccharine. Mark isn’t sure if he’s being patronized, so he keeps his mouth shut. “I imagine you would look good with a sword in your hands.”

It is hot in the dining hall. There’s a fire roaring in the stone fireplace, the wood crackling and popping rhythmically, matching Mark’s rapid heartbeat. The torches that line the walls, blazing with heat and casting flickering shadows on the floor, the table, and the king’s face before him, seem to raise the temperature significantly. 

It is hot in the dining hall, and that is Mark’s excuse for the way his face reddens under the king’s heavy gaze, and sweat trickles down the back of his neck, staining the collar of his shirt. He ducks his head low to hide the blush on his cheeks, realizing belatedly that he has forgotten his manners.

“Um,” he coughs lightly to clear his throat, “thank you, Your Highness.” 

When he dares to look up again, the king’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and he is once again struck by how beautiful King Donghyuck is. He is dressed in all black today, like a shadow has been wrapped around him, a velvet cloak sitting on his shoulders, clasped together by a golden sun brooch that sits just below his clavicles. Mark’s eyes are drawn to it now, and he can’t help his gaze from sliding up to the column of the king’s throat, dotted with moles that travel up to the king’s face, a constellation imprinted on his skin. Mark has always loved the stars.

“Eat, Mark,” the king commands, but his voice is gentle, and Mark automatically reaches for the silverware resting on a folded red napkin. He holds the fork in his left hand and marvels at the weight. Even the cutlery is engraved with beautiful designs, the polished silver gleaming in the firelight. He is self conscious as he brings the first bite of venison roast to his mouth, but his hunger wins out, and he finds himself digging in eagerly. “I received a report from my Director of Staff today.”

Mark pauses, setting his fork and knife down. The Director of Staff is whom Mark reports to daily once he is finished with his duties for the night. She is a kind but stern woman, and within reason. It is not often that women are employed in positions of authority, but the Empire Heart has always run a little differently than most. He dabs at his mouth nervously with his own handkerchief, not wanting to sully the embroidered napkin on the table. His lip stings, but the king’s words hit harder than Jeno’s kick to the face. 

“She told me,” the king continues, seemingly oblivious to Mark’s inner turmoil, “that you have completely changed the way things were run in the stables.”

Mark trembles in his seat as he bows his head so low, his hair nearly brushes the carved wood of the table. “I-I apologize, Your Highness.”

“Why?” The king asks, sounding completely mystified. “Efficiency is up, work gets done in half the time, and my Director is practically _singing_ your praises.” 

“Oh.” He hadn’t known that. “I’m. Um. I just try to do what—what I think is the best for—um. For the kingdom.” 

He picks up his cutlery again, taking a bite of the meat on his plate, choosing to put food in his mouth rather than his own foot. His cheeks burn hotter than the torches surrounding him. 

“What’s best for the kingdom, hmm? You believe your job at the stable is that important?” Mark startles, head snapping up from his plate. He has no idea what the king is getting at, but the king doesn’t look like he’s teasing. In fact, he looks completely serious, and Mark’s throat goes dry. He doesn’t reach for the wine at his plate, and he wishes he had water, but the pitcher is at the center of the table, and he doesn’t dare reach for it. Besides, it looks heavy, and Mark’s hands shake too much for him to even think of picking it up.

“It is my personal belief that every job at the castle is important, no matter how—how insignificant? Because, um. Well it’s like this castle right? One stone isn’t enough to build a castle, but all the stones come together to make—to make something beautiful,” Mark explains quietly, sinking low in his chair. He thinks his face will melt off with the force of his blush, but the king looks intrigued, and Mark can’t help but thrive under the attention. “Besides, the horses… they’re important, aren’t they? We need them for deliveries, and messengers, and the soldiers of the army. And, well. They’re living creatures too, so um. They deserve to be cared for.”

“Is that what you believe, Mark?” The king has never looked so open, his eyes alight and twinkling. There is a constellation there too. The king is a boy made up of stars. “You believe that every living creature deserves to be cared for?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mark replies, more firm than he has ever been in front of the king, as he speaks of something he believes in so wholly. “That’s what I believe. Naive, I know—“

“No,” the king cuts him off sharply, but it is not unkind. “It is what I believe in, too.” 

Mark is surprised, but not really. The king is just a boy, but he is a kind one. The king’s father was not an unjust man, nor was he cruel, but King Donghyuck is much kinder, and more merciful, than a king is expected to be. Already, there have been changes in the Emperor’s Heart. Employment has increased, the homeless decrease, the women are working. Other kingdoms may look down on the Emperor’s Heart with distaste, but the Gods love their kingdom. The Gods love their _king._ Their crops are flourishing, they receive consistent rainfall, and they haven’t faced a natural disaster in years.

The Sun smiles down at the Emperor’s Heart, and it is because of the King sitting across from Mark. A king who is fit to wear his crown, one who shines brighter than gold, and not just because he is beautiful.

“Change doesn’t happen in a day,” the king continues, “but I am trying my best. The Emperor’s Heart _will_ thrive under my command.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” Mark says quietly, putting his fork down once more. He makes eye contact with the king, irises amber in the firelight, and doesn’t flinch away, “I think our kingdom is already thriving.”

“Do you love the Heart, Mark?” The sudden question startles him, but he does not hesitate with his answer.

“Of course. It is my home.” His answer is resolute, as it has always been. Mark lives in the Emperor’s Heart, and the Emperor’s Heart lives in him.

“Hmm,” is all the king says, and he picks up his fork, so Mark does the same. They eat in silence, but it is comfortable, not suffocating. It is such a bizarre concept, that a commoner could eat with a king and feel comfort, and Mark laughs at the thought. When he looks up, the king is smiling at him, and he is the same person, but somehow he looks different. Lighter. Magical.

“What are you laughing about?” He doesn’t say Mark’s name, and his voice is bright and airy, nothing like how a king should sound, but somehow exactly how Mark thinks King Donghyuck should sound. 

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Mark says, bowing his head, “but it is a little unbecoming for a king to eat with a peasant, is it not?”

“You’re right, Mark,” the king says, but he doesn’t sound bright anymore. Instead, his words settle heavily in the air, and Mark blinks at the sudden change. The king’s chair scrapes harshly across the wooden floor as he stands, his cloak billowing behind him. He looks like a vision as he approaches Mark’s chair, and for some reason Mark doesn’t feel scared. He doesn’t feel much of anything when the king slides a folder in front of him, bound in thin leather and stamped with the royal family crest, matching the sword that the king had held to his throat. “If it is unbecoming of a king to dine with a peasant, then I shall make you a lord.”

He flips open the folder with a flourish, and Mark’s throat goes dry when he realizes what’s being presented to him. Not exactly on a silver platter, but it might as well have been. Because in between the pages of the deed to the land of Occhiarus, the deed to the stronghold that overlooked the estate, and the Certificate of Title, stamped glowing gold with the royal crest, awaiting his signature, lays a promise of a better life. 

“Lord Mark Lee of Occhiarus, in service to the Empire’s Heart,” the king says with a bright smile. “Doesn’t it have a nice ring to it?”

“I…” Mark swallows harshly, and his mouth is dry. He looks away, unable to stare into the face of the sun. He runs his fingers over the parchment, and wonders if this is a dream that he has yet to awaken from. He bites down on his lip, feels the residual sting, and is reminded that this is reality. “I couldn’t possibly accept…”

“I’ve found that Lord Nikorov has betrayed the crown,” the king mentions casually, as if removing someone from the House of Lords is as simple as removing a pest from the kitchens. Mark touches his throat, remembers the hand that had bruised it, and shudders. “I’ve been seeking his replacement for a couple days now.”

“Surely it can’t be me,” Mark says softly, and he buries his face in his hands, overwhelmed. He feels a hand on his shoulder, gentle as ever and radiating warmth. The king in the dining hall tonight and the king in the throne room seem like two different people, but in the end they are two sides of the same gold coin.

“Are you alright, Mark?” The king asks, and it’s the genuine concern that bleeds into his voice that makes Mark look up from his hands.

“I don’t understand,” Mark says, shaking his head. His voice shakes, even though he is not afraid. “I don’t know what it is that you want from me.”

“Your loyalty,” the king answers immediately, “your trust. Your signature on this deed, and your presence in the Royal Court. I value your thoughts, Mark. I value your beliefs and opinions and ideas.”

“You don’t even know me,” his voice is accusatory, but he doesn’t mean to be. Any other king would have had his tongue cut out, but King Donghyuck has proven time and time again that he is nothing like the other kings.

“I don’t,” the king agrees, “but I want to know you.”

And to Mark’s surprise, he sits down in a chair next to him, and holds out a piece of caramel wrapped in foil. A peace offering. Mark doesn’t really care for sweets, but he accepts it anyway, popping it into his mouth. Sweetness bursts on his tongue, but he is surprised to find saltiness follows, and his shock must be evident in his expression, for the king smiles at him.

“It is salted caramel,” the king explains. “In other parts of the world, salt is used as currency, because of how valuable it is. In the Emperor’s Heart, we have an abundance due to trade agreements. Do you know how those trade agreements came to be?”

Mark shakes his head, unwilling to speak. The king is sitting so casually, his posture slumped and his legs spread. He is sitting like a commoner. He is sitting like Mark’s equal.

“It was because of the young Lord Seo of Kaithia. His family has long served my own, and his presence in the Court has been nothing but beneficial to the kingdom. His father was a commoner,” the king explains, “but my father made him a lord, and now I wish to do the same for you. I want you at my side, Mark Lee.”

“If the Empire’s Heart is caramel, I want you to be the salt. A necessity? Perhaps not. But adding you will only make it better,” the king says, his face open and honest. He reaches out and takes Mark’s hand, and the rings on his fingers are cold, but his skin is warm. “So what do you say?”

 _Yes,_ Mark thinks.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he says aloud. The king only nods in understanding, but he doesn’t let go of Mark’s hand.

“I want to know you,” the king repeats, quieter this time. His eyes are wide and soft, like the puppies that roam around the stables. His hair is losing its style, falling across his forehead and into his eyes. He is beautiful, but he is also adorable, too. Mark’s heart stutters. “Will you tell me about yourself?”

“There’s not much to tell.” Mark chuckles awkwardly, but King Donghyuck is leaning in eagerly, his lower lip protruding in a slight pout, and Mark has never been able to say no to a king. Has never wanted to. “Okay, um. I’m…good with animals? And…I like music?”

Mark has never talked about himself before. He doesn’t know how to. 

The king lights up, and he’s so bright that Mark aches, just a little. “You like music?”

Mark nods, unsure. “I learned how to play the lute when I was a child.”

“Will you play for me?” The king asks, and he looks so hopeful that Mark nods again, and is startled when the king claps excitedly. He pulls a bell out of his pocket and rings for a servant, asking the young boy that runs in to fetch a lute. Mark doesn’t know anything about the layout of the castle despite having worked here for most of his life, but the servant returns quickly with a beautifully ornate lute carved from wood, and hands the instrument to the king with a deep bow.

The king thrusts the lute into Mark’s hand, and Mark takes a moment to test the strings. Of course, the instrument is perfectly tuned, so after another minute of trying to work up the courage, he closes his eyes and begins to play. It has been a while, and his calluses have softened, but the king wants him to play, so he plays. He goes through every song he can think of, getting lost in the music, something he has always indulged in during his meager downtime. 

Mark plays until the fire is burning low, and the torches have died out, and when he opens his eyes, the king’s are closed. He’s slumped low in his chair, his chin resting against his clavicle and his crown slipping off his head. Mark catches it before it can fall to the ground, but the king does not stir. 

If it were anyone else, they would take the crown and run. It was definitely worth a fortune, with its hefty weight and glittering gems embedded in gold. But Mark takes one look at the folder that the king has brought him, and places the crown on the table. The king trusts him. He could never betray that trust.

“Your Highness,” Mark whispers, and after a moment of hesitation, places his hand on the king’s shoulder to shake him awake. In the low light, without his crown, the lines of his face are soft, and he doesn’t look like a king. He looks ordinary, although he is beautiful. Mark can’t seem to look away, but he needs to leave. “Your Highness, wake up.”

“‘m awake,” the king slurs, tipping his head back, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Mark picks up the folder in his hand, and reaches for the king’s bell with the other. He rings it loud, and when the servant comes running in, he takes his leave, leather clutched in his fingers. He will talk to his mother, Mark decides, and tomorrow he will bring it back signed.

As he makes his way home, he can’t help but remember how soft and open the king looked as he slept. When he awakens the king will put on his crown again, and he will look like a king. The boy king of the Emperor Heart. 

But in that moment, while he was asleep, he was just a boy. 

“Mother,” he says breathlessly when he pushes open the door to their living quarters. Despite the late hour, his mother is awake. She is sewing clothes by the light of a lantern, working hard despite the fact that she is still ill.

“Mark? What is it?” She looks alarmed at his urgency, but relaxes when he smiles at her, handing her the leather folder he was given by the king. She gasps when she spots the royal crest embossed on the front.

“Mother, the king wants to make me a lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jaemarkism)  
>  [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/jaemarked)


End file.
